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First Posted: 11/17/2014

Everybody has to grow up and get a real job eventually, unless you’re Rob Dyrdek or Alan from “The Hangover”. Now that I have been sucked in to corporate America and have an entry level job that will aid the growth of my career, my lifestyle has changed a bit. Instead of having bags under my eyes from staying up all night drinking jungle juice and making prank phone calls to former hook-ups that I still have ill feelings toward, I have bags under my eyes from working a job that doesn’t allow me to sleep 16 hours a day. Rather than napping before I have Jell-O shots for dinner as I get ready to bar hop on a Saturday evening, I find myself napping before I stay in to watch “Saturday Night Live”.

Last Saturday night, for example, I was all pumped to stay in and watch Cameron Diaz host “SNL” because she’s hot as shit. That, and because it was really cold outside. When I was in bed watching Lifetime butcher the story of singer Aaliyah with their biopic movie, “Aaliyah: Princess of R&B”, I got a text from one of my fraternity brothers, Ross. He told me that he was coming to Scranton to watch our fraternity brother John’s band play. I was too invested in the movie to want to leave. (It was the part where Aaliyah was only 15 and having a secret affair with a then 27-year old R. Kelly.) However, I hadn’t seen Ross in three years, so I had to go.

When I met Ross, the night started just how I thought it would: shots of Jameson and Yukon, shit talk about our glory days and steady refills of beer.

Since every girl in the bar looked like a slut with more stretchmarks than dollars on their debit card, we decided to hit up a strip club once John’s band finished playing.

When we entered the strip club and John announced, “Don’t tell my wife that we came here,” I realized nothing had changed over the years. We all turned out exactly how I thought we would — or so I thought.

As soon as we sat down, I gave myself a pat on my back for changing the two-week disposable contact lenses I wore for the past six months and replacing them with a brand new pair earlier that day. (The clarity in my envision allowed me to see the daddy issues in the strippers’ eyes.) Then I made it rain with one-dollar bills.

When I was in college, I would spit out rap lyrics or “Family Guy” quotes when wasting money to put a stripper through law school. This night, however, I found myself contemplating more responsible ways I could be spending my money.

“Looks like I won’t be ordering the loaded Tater Tots when I get lunch at Rodano’s,” I said when Amber was motor boating me.

“Looks like I won’t be eating at Rodano’s at all,” I said when Lexie was taking my money.

“Looks I won’t be eating at all and finally starting that diet,” I said when Trinity was attempting to breast feed me.

When I turned down a lap dance by a girl from Pennsylvania named Aspen so I could have enough gas money to get to work on Monday, I realized maybe I can’t party like a frat boy any more. Maybe it’s time for me to be more professional and party like a journalist.